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The Swing of Things
Why a Dad Went Back to the Park
By Mark Stackpole
At any rate, this non-ear doctor asked me to tell him the last time I felt pure, unadulterated joy. I had to think. The birth of my children was undeniable joyful, but each pregnancy and delivery did carry some degree of drama and fear, which polluted the "unadulterated" part. There was the day that the Boston Red Sox won the World Series – but to put that ahead of the birth of my children just seemed to confirm all of the worst stereotypes of men, dads, husbands and sports fans. And being a father, while immensely joyful cosmically, is often a difficult gig. (Even though I am often singing to a wide-awake child in the wee hours of the morning, it is not a joyful noise.)
"I don't know," I said, copping out.
"Did you like to swing as a child?" he asked.
"It was my favorite thing to do at the park," I said, wondering if I would have to explain my irrational fear of those merry-go-round spinning things.
"When was the last time you did it?"
"Two weeks ago with my daughter."
"Did you swing as high as you used to?"
"Well, no. I used to swing as high as I could, and then jump off. Corinne isn't quite ready for that altitude. Yet."
"When was the last time you had that feeling in your stomach? The feeling that swinging so high as a child used to give you?"
And I couldn't answer him.
"Pay attention and make note of those moments."
I hadn't previously equated "joy" with those insane butterflies that populated my stomach as I pumped my legs and prepared to go airborne and dive into a sea of tanbark. But it made sense to me. Sudden sense. Real sense. Stop thinking, Mark. Close your eyes, swing high and jump far.
Want to see more?
- Slippin' and Sliding: Throw Yourself into Summer Fun
- To Swing with Clouds: Learning to Truly Enjoy Playing with Our Children
- Daddy Play with Me! An Excerpt from the book Hidden Messages: What Our Words and Actions Are Really Telling Our Children (McGraw-Hill, 2000)
- Check out our Article Library.
- Talk about it!
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